


Mayday, Pay-day!

by ufp13



Category: Sneakers (1992)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-11
Updated: 2012-07-11
Packaged: 2017-11-09 15:11:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/456891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ufp13/pseuds/ufp13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anger, all-over-the-kitchen sex, a wooden spoon and love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mayday, Pay-day!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sira/gifts).



> *points at summary* While this may sound like kink, it is not. However, if spanking of any kind is not your cup of tea, stay away from this story.

“Get out. Everybody. No, that does not include you, Bishop.“ Liz entered her apartment in a rage.

“You got everything?” Donald inquired.

“Yes, but get out! Now!”

“But I’d need to…” Whistler tried to interrupt her.

“Do it in the car, do it tomorrow morning, I don’t care but leave. Right. Now.” She pressed the tape into his hand before she directed him rather forcefully to the exit.

Ignoring the whispers that sounded like “Boss’s in trouble”, she stared at Bishop with a glare that would have killed him immediately if glares could have killed. Once the door was pulled closed behind the four men and she was alone with Bishop, Liz really began to express her frustration. “This was the worst night I ever had. It even tops the second date with you!”

Ouch, that had hurt, though she was right; their second date had been catastrophic. Her evening really must have been bad if it was worse than sitting through a dinner with a not-so-good friend of your very-likely-soon-to-be-lover who hadn’t been invited but saw you in the restaurant and invited himself to your table, who was drunk, refused to stop talking, never mind leaving, who couldn’t stop trying to grab your ass or stare at your cleavage, and who, in the end, emptied his glass of red wine all over your new dress.

“Liz,” Bishop tried to assuage her. “It can’t have been that bad.”

“No, it wasn’t. It was worse! I had to listen to this nasally voice for the whole evening, going on and on and on about things I wasn’t even the slightest bit interested in. The terrible music made sure I didn’t fall asleep, and the distasteful decoration was no good alternative to rest my eyes from having to look at this plain, totally undesirable man all the time. God, I even had to flirt with him!” She shuddered dramatically in disgust. “And you promised me a ‘joyful evening’! With you saying something like that, I should have known that it would be even worse than my worst expectations.” Her eyes still shot daggers at him.

“Liz, listen,” he tried do interrupt her rant calmly.

“No, Bishop, you listen. You. Owe. Me.” With each word she spoke, she took a step toward him until not much more than a flat hand would have fitted between them. “Compensation for having to make an idiot of myself in public and a joyful evening.”

“A joyful evening?” He stared at her.

“That’s what you promised me, Bishop.”

“Well, okay.” Never having been a man to break his word, he wrapped his arms around her waist while at the same time taking possession of her lips with his. A very welcome side effect of this action was that she shut up. As much as he enjoyed listening to Liz, there were sounds from her he liked a lot better than angry accusations.

Taken by surprise at first but soon recovering, she pushed him away a bit, yanking her mouth from his. “What do you think you’re doing?” she snarled, trying to untangle herself from his embrace, but he refused to let her go, to loosen his hold on her.

“Keeping a promise,” he shot back and sealed her mouth with his again in the same heartbeat. Liz struggled for a moment before giving in to his advances, actually returning them with angry passion.

A few seconds later, Bishop found himself shoved against the pillar next to her kitchen. A muffled sound of surprise and slight pain was audible but ignored by Liz, who continued to assault his mouth, mapping it with her tongue, nipping his lip. Acting with a similar force as her lips, her fingers attacked his clothes. Within a matter of seconds, his jeans and briefs made their way down his legs to pool around his feet. At this time, she was already pushing up his shirt.

It took him a bit to catch up with her as her touch was dazzling, taking his breath away, his ability to think clearly, his coherency. God, he loved it when she redirected the energy anger had set free in her to her lust. When she forced him to take off his shirt, and he found himself as good as naked in front of a still fully clothed Liz. He decided it was time he started to take action, to even out the odds. So while her lips and teeth wandered over his chest, teasing his nipples, and her hands drove him further away from sanity by kneading, rubbing his hardening cock, his fingers sneaked under her dress, accessing it at the low back, moving upward with the goal to slide it off her shoulders. To feel her skin under his fingers made his heart skip a beat. It was still as soft as he remembered it, and for a long while, he had only dreamed of touching it, her again, sure in his belief she would never let him this near for even a second again.

He couldn’t begrudge her leaving him, had actually been surprised she had stayed with him for any noteworthy length of time to begin with. At first sight, she wasn’t someone who’d socialise with someone like him, for she was a head person with a knack for tidiness, both in her apartment and her heart, whereas he had nothing remotely resembling order to show for in his life.

He had been captured by her beauty first, miraculously managing to get her attention long enough to show off his intellect and discovering hers in return. What it had been that had attracted her, he didn’t know, had never gotten her to admit whether it had been his mind or his looks or his charms – although he doubted it was the latter because people told him time and again he lacked in this department. However, as long as she had stayed with him, had shared his bed, he hadn’t cared. That changed when she broke up their liaison, when, for a short moment, he considered winning her back – an idea he dumped very soon, knowing he didn’t have a chance until he had cleaned his record, was free to live a life like your average man. She hadn’t told him she didn’t love him anymore as she left, but that she couldn’t live with him, couldn’t live his life any longer. During the last days, he had seen in her eyes that the former would have been a lie. This realisation fuelled his determination to end this mission successfully, to sort out everything, to draw a line under his past, had given him hope for a possible future with this wonderful woman who surrendered to his insisting hands and shed her dress.

Before the garment even hit the floor, he reversed their positions, pressing her against the wall, pulled his lips from hers to indulge his love for her soft assets. Tenderly, he ran his tongue over a nipple, teased it with the tip before closing his lips around it, sucking it, lightly at first but more forcefully with the moment. Meanwhile, one of his hands played with the other nipple so it wouldn’t feel neglected, the other hand sneaked into the front of her panties.

She grabbed his head, her fingers buried in his hair, fisting it, holding him to her while she arched into the connection. Whereas the move was unnecessary as to prevent his moving away – for he had no desire to leave this place anytime soon now that he was finally there again –, it was welcome as one to make him feel her lust. He relished seeing, feeling her loosing her treasured control.

While passionless was far from the truth describing their first time, he had sensed there was more and had made it his mission to discover, to experience this more. It had taken some coaxing, some lessons in trust until she let go completely, surrendered to her passion, to him without restraint. He had been blown away by the force of her passion that particular night, had been unprepared for the amount of lust she usually withheld, kept at bay. Who would have expected such passion underneath the rather cold exterior of this little control freak? They had both been vulnerable during those hours; she lay bare without any barriers, he humbled by her trust. Ever since, he had aimed for this effect, this freedom, and very seldom did she deny him. He knew something was off every time she did. With this, the physicality of the intercourse gained a spirituality he had never experienced before and never again afterwards. It was a specialty, a uniqueness of his connection with Liz. No other woman had managed to touch him this way, this deeply. Before Liz, he had considered sex sex, albeit differentiated in good, bad and mind-blowing sex. However, since he knew of the existence of something more, he felt that even the most enjoyable sex lacked something. Liz had definitely and irrevocably spoiled him.

After having gone without this drug only she could provide, he now rejoiced in the first tastes of it, his heart beating faster, expectant of a dosage. To get nearer to this goal, he tenderly stroked her labia, parted them.

Kissing his way over her bosom, he tended to her other breast with his mouth.

Liz began to turn liquid under his ministrations, sighed and hummed. Fuelled by her responsiveness, he pushed two fingers into her wetness, curling them, drawing a whimper from her lips that resembled his name. His heart sang in joy upon hearing this sound of desire, in desire. It was one on which his best dreams were based. Yes, the following nights would be fantastic, something to look forward to despite the general circumstances.

But right now wasn’t the time for dreaming since there was no need for it. He had the real thing right here under his mouth, in his hands, and she felt great.

In unison with his lips nipping at her breast, he teased her clitoris and penetrated her with his fingers again and again. Her muscles tensed more frequently, more forcefully, a sure sign she was nearing orgasm at a fast pace.

To her obvious dismay, his mouth followed its own whim and abandoned her breast in favour of roaming her chest to finally latching onto her neck, suckling hard, unable to withstand the urge to mark her. She was his, and he resented the thought of her with another, a different man – even on pretence. This evening had been torture for him as much as it apparently had been for her, knowing she was flirting mercilessly with this freaky jerk. The possessiveness was an emotion he tried to suppress because it unnerved him; he had no real claim on her, no matter how much he wanted to.

At the moment, though, she was his to claim, surrendered to him, or rather to the sensations he evoked in her body, which by now trembled hard as the climax flooded her nerves. She pushed her pelvis forwards into his hand, prolonging, intensifying the contact.

His gaze was fastened on her face, the play of her features. The expression of bliss was one he hadn’t seen in quite some time, too long a time; he found he had missed it. She was beautiful in her desire, in her trust in him to take care of her, to not hurt her. However, she didn’t remain submissive for long. As soon as the biggest wave of orgasm started to ebb away, she pulled his hand out of her underwear, turned their bodies and pushed him against the kitchen counter.

Liz was furious with herself, with her body that had so easily betrayed. Denying that she had enjoyed his touch would be a lie, but that still didn’t mean she liked that it had happened. She was angry. With herself, for letting it happen, for slipping back into their camaraderie, into what used to be between them without an ounce of antagonism. With him, for making it so easy, for making it so difficult to withstand him. The first moment he had shown up during the piano lesson, she had known she was in deep shit, had tried to push him away despite her melting resistance. However, when he had voiced his reason for his being there, all bets were off; her mind was flooded by worry about him, his life, by fear, by irrepressible hope for a future with him. As much as she wished she could make her heart forget him, could make it stop feeling the intense love for him, it refused to do her that favour. To be honest, it could have chosen worse than him; still, her mind found fault with her heart’s choice. And since she was a head girl rather than a heart girl, she had done the sensible thing – or what she thought was the sensible thing – and had left him some time ago, despite her heart cramping at that step. Now he was back in her life – not that he had ever really left it – much to her heart’s joy. However, her mind demanded he paid for what he did to her, to her heart, for the discomfort he caused her, for the chaos he brought back into her life, for turning her emotional state into a complete disarray. So she would make him suffer a bit before she would give in, could give in with the agreement of her mind.

He released a soft, low sound upon colliding hard with the furniture, her slim yet strong form pressed against, trapping him efficiently. Inhaling deeply, he tried to get the air she had knocked out of him back into his lungs.

“Thanks,” she grinned. “But don’t think you’ll get away with that.”

“Wouldn’t dare.” He worked up one of his trademark smirks, unable to fully disguise his joy at the prospect of fucking her, getting fucked by her. A fuck, nothing more this would be, nothing less either, though. And sexual intercourse of any kind with Liz was something he always looked forward to, anticipated with joyousness. So he was content, happy even to serve as the release of her anger, frustration the evening, the assignment had raised in her. Normally, he didn’t like being a tool, didn’t like it one bit, but for her, he’d make an exception, especially since he knew she wasn’t one to screw around, had picked him specifically. Granted, it was he she was mad at. Nonetheless, she could have made him pay differently There were many ways he’d have liked a damn lot less than her jumping his bones, screwing him senseless.

The sensation of her naked chest rubbing against his had his cock twitch between them. Even the pain her bite to his neck evoked, couldn’t discourage his arousal. She was merciless in her efforts, ignored his hiss, just sucked harder, sank her teeth deeper into his skin. The mark would bedeck his body for quite a while, serving as a reminder of what had happened, would happen tonight.

On their own volition, his hands cupped her buttocks to satisfy their need to hold onto something. However, it took only a moment till Liz reached around herself to peel his hands off her ass, putting them firmly onto the counter behind him.

“Don’t you touch me,” she snarled, her eyes dancing dangerously with still somewhat-contained rage. A warning. She was clearly still mad at him despite having given in to her body’s weakness for his touch, to its desire.

Not daring to open his mouth in case his choice of words or tone would piss her off even more, he only nodded his having understood her order.

Her gaze locked with his, she shifted back a bit and closed a hand forcefully around his balls. Pain yet pleasure shot through his veins. While unable to suppress a flinch, he was proud to not yelp at her bold move.

Not releasing her hold on his hard length, she raked the nails of her other hand down his chest, leaving red scratch marks behind.

Damn those nails! He had never liked them, the stinging they caused when being driving into his skin. And she knew it. One of the reasons why she made use of them now as punishment.

Usually, she tried to avoid hurting him with her nails, well aware he disliked feeling them this way, but right now, she wanted to remind him that she wasn’t a kitten but a cat. And what better to do that than to use the claws?

Holding the eye contact, she kneaded his testicles, varying the force from caressingly light to painfully strong. Despite the latter, he had a literally hard time not to come right then and there into her hand.

“Wanna come?” She ran a thumb over the tip of his cock, unable to resist the temptation of teasing him.

He couldn’t help but shiver at the touch, and the answer to her question got lost in a groan.

A wicked grin on her face, she asked, “What did you say?”

The urge to wipe the smile off her face was strong, but he knew it would not be a good idea, given the location of her hands, and most likely impossible at the moment.

“Well, let’s try this again.” She closed her fingers around his erection. “Do you want to come?” God, it was so easy to reduce a man, even this man to a stuttering, cock-controlled conglomeration of cells. A fact she actually found quite amusing.

“Fuck, yes!” he growled loudly in desperation, in frustration; a frustration that was fuelled by her giggles. How could she giggle in a situation, a moment like this?!

“Well, sweetheart, you think you deserve to come? You think you earned it?” she challenged him.

As he opened his mouth to defend himself, she went on before he could even utter a word.

“After what you did to me you think you deserve to come just like this? You dragged me into yet another of your dangerous ventures, brought a lot of trash and chaos into my home and sent me on a date with a guy who had my toes curl – and not in a good way,” she almost spit, her grip on his member tightening as she spoke. He winced at the words as much as at the uncomfortable feelings her touch caused. “So let me ask once more. Do you think you deserve to come?”

“No,” he pressed the word through his lips. Judging by her expression, she was pleased with the answer.

“What do you deserve then?” she inquired, again squeezing his balls.

“Punishment,” he breathed out unsteadily.

Men could be so agreeable if they wanted to or, better said, if you wanted them to and had the right arguments at your hands, in your hands. “If you think so, who am I to disagree…”

Bitch! But he refrained from voicing the sentiment aloud, didn’t dare. There was a difference between bravery and stupidity, after all.

She let go of him, and he couldn’t suppress a sigh of relief, although his body protested at the loss of contact of her skin. By crooking her finger, she made him step forward, away from the counter.

“Turn around. Hands on the counter,” she ordered in a tone that clearly forbade questions.

She wasn’t really sure what made her do it, but something had snapped in her, had unleashed all the rage, all the hurt he had – mostly unwittingly – caused her. Maybe the stunt he had talked her into today was the straw that broke the camel’s back, maybe she had to get it all out to be able to make a fresh start with him – and there wouldn’t, couldn’t be anything else for them but a fresh start; they had to get rid of all their legacy if they wanted to have a future. And for her there seemed to be only one way to get those emotions, this wrath out, to transfer them to him. The urge to make him somehow feel what she felt, what had driven her mind to go over her heart, to immure it and leave Bishop when she had. She knew it wasn’t a real equivalent, but it had to do.

The stance was everything but comfortable. Leaned forward, braced against the counter, his behind, in result, was in an exposed, pronounced position. She stepped up behind him and moulded her palms around his buttocks, caressing them tenderly for a moment before landing a hard slap on them in the next one.

Caught completely by surprise, he cried out. This was unexpected, new. They had never done anything like that before. More or less gentle bites of teeth and nails was the furthest they had ever gone. She had to be seriously pissed with him to choose this method to punish him, for he knew she wasn’t into pain, usually avoided contact with it, having seen, experienced too much of it in the earlier years of her life. Silently analysing the pain spreading from his ass as well as her motivations for causing it in the first place, he didn’t notice her opening a drawer to retrieve a wooden spoon until it landed hard on his behind. Immediately, one of his hands shot back to rub the spot where the thing had made contact.

She had to grab the spoon, needed the mediator. Her hands just wouldn’t do the deed. They weren’t strong enough, were too personal. Using them, her chances to go through with this were slimmer than they were as it was, for she simply wasn’t the type to hurt anyone, least a beloved person in this way.

“Hands on the counter,” her voice sounded strong, assertive from behind. He started to voice a protest, but she interrupted him instantly. “Shut up.”

Really pissed off. He swallowed. Never before had he seen her this enraged, and, even though he would never admit it, it frightened him, she frightened him like this. Where was his gentle while a bit bull-headed woman who seldom screamed, never threw things and generally preferred to either talk arguments through or sit them out? Definitely absent for Liz delivered another well-placed blow onto his already-aching flesh. Biting down on his lower lip, attempting the impossibility of ramming his fingers into the hard surface, he tried to compensate for the pain she caused on his backside – not really successfully, though.

Another few blows tattooed down on him before she paused to place a soft kiss on his hot, reddened skin. Her literally kissing his ass inflamed his arousal again after it had ebbed away a bit due to her treatment. While he couldn’t deny the erotic naughtiness of getting spanked by her naked in her kitchen, pain wasn’t his kink. Too much of the unpleasant kind of that in his line of work to appeal to him.

Her lips left his skin. “God damn you, Bishop.” With each word, the spoon met his behind forcefully. “How…” He braced himself for the next blow, but it didn’t come. Behind him, Liz sank to her knees, leaning her forehead against his thigh, and the rest of what she had intended to say dissolved in a tear-filled babbling and sobbing.

The redder his skin became, the more she found she couldn’t do it, couldn’t go through with it. Hurting him hurt her instead of relieving the pain. The plan, the impulse might not have been the best one to begin with, but neither was it a really bad one. She just wasn’t the right person for it. So the mix of rivalling emotions sought another outlet, one she rarely succumbed to because tears made you appear weak, and she hated being weak if only in appearance.

Bishop stood paralysed, didn’t know what to do, how to react to this sudden turn of events. However, his heart wouldn’t have his inactivity for long. It ached for the obviously broken woman who held it. So he reached for her, substituting his thigh with his hand to enable himself to turn around without disturbing her too much. He then got down on his knees to be on eye level with her and enfolded her in his embrace, her tear-strained face resting against the crook of his neck. Gently, he rubbed her back, made shushing noises to calm her down.

“What is it, honey?” He was worried.

“I wish I wouldn’t care,” she mumbled against his skin.

A frown formed on his face. “Honey?” He stroked her hair, urging her in the motion to look at him.

Sniffling, she faced him. “I wish I could not care, could not love you. Would make my life so much easier.”

Disbelief rolled over him. Had she just said she loved him?! It must have showed on his face as he tenderly wiped away her tears with his thumbs, for Liz rolled her eyes.

“Yes, damnit, I love you. Why do you think I can’t seem to say no to you?”

It dawned on him that her initial reaction to his showing up in her life again had been more to convince herself rather than a statement directed at him. Although he couldn’t deny his joy at her admittance, it saddened him to know he had hurt her, could hurt her so easily without even being aware of it. It also made him realise that her outburst of violence hadn’t been about tonight, at least not primarily. It originated from all the sorrow, the frustration he had caused her in all the time they had known each other.

She leaned into him again, continuing to talk, to explain. “I thought I could push you away and forget about you, thought I could build a new life and just go on. It worked for a while, but something was missing, something I had thought I wouldn’t miss, shouldn’t miss. During the last days, you proved my head right that had told me to stay far away from you. But despite all the pain, my heart refuses to let go.” Her voice was low as she spoke, but yet collected, sure.

His stomach knotted at her words. He was torn between joy and sorrow, helpless in his inability to decide how to react to this. He wanted to cuddle her as close as humanly possible and never let her go again, he wanted to assure her that everything would be fine, that he would never hurt her again, but he knew this would be a lie, and knew better than to lie to her.

On their own volition, though, his arms tightened around her still-slightly-shaking form. “God, I wish…”

“Don’t, Bishop, don’t. Just hold me.”

That he could do, gladly even.

For a while, they remained like that, motionless, wordless.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured as she ran her hands down his back to his behind, caressing it with the whisper of a touch.

“Don’t be. I think I deserved it. Just tell me you feel better now,” he smiled into her hair.

“A bit.” Her tone was lighter now, spiced with a shimmer of humour.

“Good.” He kissed her shoulder. “How about getting up?” he suggested, apparently to her amusement, for she burst into giggles. He couldn’t help but smile broadly in reaction, her happy sounds too infectious.

Still giggling lightly, she used the moment of his inattention to tumble him, them over so he found himself on his back on her kitchen floor, she lying partly on him.

Damn, his ass hurt, but the smile on her face as she looked down at him made up for it.

“You sure you wanna get up?” she asked, brushing her lips over his.

“When you phrase it like that… nope.”

Threading his fingers into her hair, he deepened the connection of their mouths, nipped at her lower lip, teased her tongue with his. When she began to hum and rub herself against his thigh, he knew that this was it. They would be fine for now, and he would actually get around to do what he hadn’t dared hope for anymore – make love to the woman who made his heart sing and flutter like no other.

One hand in her hair, caressing her scalp, he kissed her as if it was going out of style, as if it was the last time he’d ever get the chance to do this. She wriggled on him, against him, seeking stimulation, stimulating him, driving him crazy. His arousal, which had been deflated in between pain and worry, spiked again, rose to even higher levels than before.

When the need for air became too great, they parted, panting heavily, but remained close. Staring into each others’ eyes, they searched for answers to questions they didn’t know, questions they were afraid to ask. Nonetheless, they seemed to find what they were looking for, found reassurance along with the insecurity they both still harboured about life, about love.

“I got you,” he whispered while trailing a hand down over her back in a gentle touch. She cuddled impossibly closer, buried her face in the crook of his neck, humming at first, then suckling at his neck tenderly. He knew he wouldn’t hear the end of it when meeting with the boys again, but her apparent need to mark him filled him with joy, heightened his longing to have her in the most primal of ways.

He couldn’t stop his hand from sneaking into her panties to knead the soft flesh of her behind, didn’t want to stop it. And she obviously welcomed the touch as he could feel her smile. While he caressed her buttocks, she slowly slid her fingers along his body to tenderly stroke his hardening member, the touch the contrast to her prior ones. It was pleasuring, arousing, oh-so good. Nonetheless, he desired to feel a different part of her around him, and her panties, as skimpy as they were, were in the way, had to go. Now. His mind set on that, he made a sorry attempt of pushing the garment down while she was lying on him.

“Liz,” he groaned when he felt her chuckle.

“Yes, honey?” her tone was teasingly sweet.

“Could you please lift that cute little ass of yours, darling?” he requested, matching her tone with a barely straight face.

“Sure, honey.”

Although she did as he had wanted her to, he didn’t succeed in stripping the lingerie off. All it got him was infectious laughter.

Still giggling, she had mercy on him, though, and got to her feet to rid herself of the fabric. In the meantime, he had propped himself up on his elbows and eyed her appreciatively. His gaze followed her panties down her seemingly endless legs, then went back up the same route but continued over her stomach to her breasts, and after some moments of lingering there, to her face, meeting her with amusement twinkling eyes. Leaning her head to the side, she looked at him expectantly. He grinned broadly and nodded. Yes, he liked what he saw, liked it very much.

Just as she was about to lower herself back to him on the floor, he shifted and was reminded of his hurting behind. He involuntarily winced and hissed, which earned him a sympathetic smile from the woman who was the cause of it.

“Sorry,” she said softly.

Shaking his head, he simply held out a hand, a request to her to help him up.

With her assistance, he was on his feet a moment later, and then it only took not even a few seconds for him to back her up against the small table, his lips hard on hers in a deep kiss while his hands roamed her torso greedily. With lewdness, she mirrored his actions, giving as well as she got, undulating her hips against his. Her motions released a low groan in his throat, were like oxygen to the fire of his desire. She seemed to feel similarly, for she wrapped a leg around his, trying to get even closer to him. To satisfy this need, he hoisted her onto the table and pushed into her as she instinctively spread her legs further to accommodate him. They both moaned aloud at the sensations of the penetration.

In a way, it felt like coming home to him, her wet heat, her thighs enveloping his hips, her soft hums filling his ears like her distinctive smell his nostrils. This was she who moved with him, she whom he made love to, with, she who surrounded him, was wrapped around him. Liz. His Liz. After her confession, there was no way to bottle up his feelings of possessiveness and protectiveness for her. He would do everything in his ability to prevent any harm from coming to her.

Holding onto her knees, her pounded into her, encouraged by her moans, little cries and writhing. She tried to maintain eye contact with him, but broke it after a while to fully concentrate on what her other senses communicated to her brain. He used the opportunity to study her face like he had done earlier. There just couldn’t be enough memories of her in this state of bliss; so open, so vulnerable – a state she didn’t let many people see herself in. Then he allowed his gaze to travel down her body to her jiggling breasts, whose nipples tempted his mouth to latch onto them; a temptation he didn’t even consider to resist but simply gave into, drawing a particularly loud sound of pleasure from her lips as he started to suckle. Yeah, this was something they both enjoyed a lot. Savouring the feeling, he licked the nipple slowly, circled it with the tip of his tongue before planting an open-mouthed kiss onto it and bestowing the same treatment upon its twin. Ignoring his frantic need, he slowed the motion of his pelvis, didn’t want this experience to end sooner rather than later, especially since he felt as if anytime in the future would be too soon for this to be over and he had no idea when he would be allowed to return to this heavenly place again, even though his hopes for a reoccurrence were bigger now than they had been earlier. Liz, however, was making prolonging this extremely difficult by arching into his oral ministrations, by clenching her inner muscles around his erection, by moaning his name in a deep, sultry manner that drove him wild.

“Let go,” she murmured in answer to a groan which had obviously carried the frustration he felt upon his control slipping away. “Come,” she urged him while purposefully squeezing his cock within her, giving him no choice but to surrender to the lurking climax. Whereas she had denied him the orgasm earlier, Liz now relished watching this man she couldn’t help but love dissolve in bliss, trembling under the force of the orgasmic waves. She hadn’t seen him this thoroughly relaxed in a long time; even during the evening spent with the rest of his gang, he hadn’t been completely carefree. Total relaxation was a rare thing for him who was trained to be alert, always ready to fight, to run, to hide – a result of the life he had lived, did live. Right now, though, he did let go of this control, allowed himself to be vulnerable, trusted her to take care of him, watch over him. She would never misuse this trust, held him to her, squeezed his buttocks, caressed his back, waited for him to float down from the height again.

“Sorry,” his voice sounded hoarse.

She just shook her head; he had done nothing he owed her an apology for – well, not within the last hour anyway.

“Thank you.”

She smiled, “You’re welcome,” and pulled him down for a lingering kiss.

With some reluctance, he slipped out of her and grabbed the cloth from the sink.

“Don’t,” he told her when she wanted to get off the table. He kneeled down in front of her, cleaning up the mess he had caused with slow, tender motions that not only touched her physically but emotionally.

Flipping the cloth back into the sink once he was done, he put his hand on her inner thighs and spread them further, giving himself a clear view of her most private place and his mouth a good access to it. Gently, needing her flesh, he ran his hands up her thighs to part her labia with his thumbs so he could tease her clit with his tongue more easily. Fiercely, he worked her sex, lapped, suckled, nipped, kissed and caressed inside and out with this fingers and mouth until she screamed out in orgasm, fisted his hair, painfully forceful. He continued to stroke her softly, guiding her down before he nibbled, kissed his way upward – with a detour to each nipple – to her lips that welcomed him openly, deeply.

“Thank you, kind sir,” she purred.

“Anytime, m’lady.” He waggled his eyebrows, earning him a giggle and a playful slap.

Embracing her, he pulled her off the table, cuddled her close, didn’t want to let her go.

“Where are we going from here, Bishop?” she inquired softly, insecurity seeping into her voice.

“I’m going to solve this mystery I got on my hands…”

“We,” she interrupted him.

“Huh?”

“We are going to do that, clear your name. No keeping me out, Bishop. I’m in now.”

Her explanation filled him with joy and remorse – joy for her caring about him, but at the same time, he hated to endanger her. “Okay, we will do that, and then I’m open for your suggestions,” he stated with a tender smile.

Catching his implication of wanting his life to include her, she smiled back and nodded in agreement. “Sounds like a plan.” She touched her lips to his. “You should let the boys know that I haven’t killed you.”

“They can wait till tomorrow. Let’s go to bed.”

“Nope,” she shook her head. “First things first, remember?”

He sighed dramatically. “Spoilsport.”

“You wouldn’t have me any other way.” Her grin was triumphant, superior. Rightly so, for he couldn’t possibly deny the fact.

“Well, then c’mon. Wouldn’t want the guys to get an eyeful.”

 

= End =


End file.
